


Throw Me In The Water

by blewoutthestars



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Desperation, First Kiss, M/M, Omorashi, Post-Canon, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blewoutthestars/pseuds/blewoutthestars
Summary: Dirk can’t remember ever seeing Todd dance before. Dirk dances all the time – to the car stereo, to adverts on the TV, to piped music in stores – but the closest he’s ever seen Todd get is tapping his fingers along to a particularly catchy bassline. But now he’s moving to the beat, jumping up and down, grabbing Dirk’s hands. And Dirk almost passes out because he can’t actually remember how many times he’s wished that Todd would hold his hand.So, all in all, it’s a really bad moment for his bladder to twinge and remind him that he’s drank nearly a litre of liquid since he arrived at the bar. Not to mention that cup of tea before they left the apartment. But Todd’s twining their fingers together and grinning from ear to ear and hecan’ttake a bathroom break now. Not now.Todd takes Dirk out for the night. Dirk underestimates how much his bladder can hold.
Relationships: Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Throw Me In The Water

**Author's Note:**

> The Dirk Gently fandom is sleeping on omorashi. So, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
> 
> This is a pee fic! Please walk away if that squicks you!

The bar is a dive. The sort of grungy, too-dark-to-really-see, ‘why-is-this-beer-so-warm?’ dive that Dirk would never, _ever_ consider as a setting for a night out. But there’s a band playing that Todd wants to see and, after all the places that Todd has followed Dirk, Dirk figures he maybe owes Todd this one.

The music is very loud and not really to Dirk’s taste – there isn’t a single synthesizer present on stage and the lead singer sounds like she’s in physical pain – but Todd is so _happy_ that Dirk thinks he can stand the assault on his senses for one night. The beer is weak and – as aforementioned – worryingly warm but it does at least have some alcohol and that is absolutely the key to surviving this experience. He’ll just have to drink plenty of them.

It’s quite adorable, really, how much fun Todd is having. It’s a rare chance to see him in his element and Dirk drinks it in. Todd orders their second round at the bar, sliding between other patrons in the way that only a dive bar aficionado can. When he returns to Dirk - standing near the wall but trying very hard not to touch it – he has another pair of pint glasses in his hands. It’s not what Dirk would call a “pint” but, under the circumstances, it’ll do. He chugs it down gratefully – and just in time, because the warm up act has finished and the band they came to see has taken to the stage, and Todd is dragging him bodily into the crowd.

Dirk can’t remember ever seeing Todd dance before. Dirk dances all the time – to the car stereo, to adverts on the TV, to piped music in stores – but the closest he’s ever seen Todd get is tapping his fingers along to a particularly catchy bassline. But now he’s moving to the beat, jumping up and down, grabbing Dirk’s hands. And Dirk almost passes out because he can’t actually remember how many times he’s wished that Todd would hold his hand.

So, all in all, it’s a really bad moment for his bladder to twinge and remind him that he’s drank nearly a litre of liquid since he arrived at the bar. Not to mention that cup of tea before they left the apartment. But Todd’s twining their fingers together and grinning from ear to ear and he _can’t_ take a bathroom break now. Not now.

It’s fine, he decides. Todd’s had as much to drink as he has; he’ll go when Todd goes. And, after all, Todd is tiny. There’s no way his bladder is bigger than Dirk’s. If Todd can hold it then so can he.

That’s what he keeps telling himself anyway, as they dance along to song after song and Todd shows no sign of making a move. Dirk prides himself on his dance moves, regardless of the way that Todd usually rolls his eyes and calls him “embarrassing,” but now he finds himself skipping the more extravagant ones as every bouncy movement jostles his bladder and makes him wince.

He’s just about to give in and tell Todd he has to go to the bathroom when Todd reaches up to place a hand on Dirk’s shoulder, his index finger landing in just such a way that it strokes the tickly bit at the nape of Dirk’s neck, and pulls him down to Todd’s level. For one ridiculous moment Dirk thinks that Todd is actually, finally going to kiss him. But no. Todd’s just trying to get as close to Dirk’s ear as possible so that he can shout over the thump of the drums. ‘I’m going to the bathroom!’

Todd’s warm breath tickling the inside of his ear is so distracting that it takes Dirk a moment to realise what Todd is telling him, and, when he does, the relief almost outweighs the disappointment that Todd _doesn’t_ want to engage in a mosh-pit-adjacent make-out session. Because, as nice as that would be, his full bladder really is starting to move from “uncomfortable” to “urgent.”

He gives Todd two thumbs up and tries his best to follow as Todd weaves his way expertly through the crowd. He does pretty well. He only gets kicked once and elbowed twice. All unintentionally, he’s sure.

The toilets are at the back, next to the bar, and… oh God. Dirk can smell them before he sees them.

The door is actually shiny. Not ‘freshly painted with lovely glossy paint’ shiny, _unidentifiable moisture_ shiny and no, no, no, Dirk is not going in there. Todd shoulders through it like it’s no big deal so Dirk tries to tell himself that maybe it really isn’t but when Todd turns back to hold the door for him his body revolts and he finds himself miming _‘I’ll get the drinks!’_ He tries really hard not to notice what the room on the other side of the door looks like, but he feels like he’ll see it in his nightmares.

This is a really bad idea. And he knows it. But he’s sure he can hold it long enough. It won’t be comfortable, no, but he’s a grown adult. It’ll be fine. The band has finished their first set already so it’ll be, what, another hour? Then it’s only ten minutes on the bus back to the apartment. He can do that. The nature of his cases mean there are rarely toilet breaks built in; he’s had it worse than this before. Much worse. It’s just an hour or two. No problem.

He’s not as good as Todd at getting to the front of the bar – don’t these people know how to queue, for heaven’s sake – and by the time he gets served Todd is back from the bathroom, waiting off to one side with a smirk as he watches Dirk try to negotiate the crowds. He eventually gets the drinks and carries two more pints of beer back to Todd. He’s painfully aware that more liquid is not what he needs right now and internally scowls at the part of his panic-reaction that chose this as a diversion to the disgusting toilets. Stupid brain. He’ll just have to take a few sips and hope that Todd doesn’t notice he isn’t actually drinking it.

That doesn’t work out so well, though. As he hands Todd his beer the band come back on stage and Todd is immediately steering him back towards the crowd. At least they don’t head right to the middle this time; even Todd doesn’t seem keen on getting half his drink knocked over him. But, Christ, it’s warm. Even here, at the edge of it all, the heat radiating off the packed bodies is overwhelming. The day has been cool so Dirk is naturally wearing a jacket and he can feel his skin starting to prickle with the heat. The beer might be warm, as beers go, but it’s cooler than the sweat forming on Dirk’s skin and he can’t help but gulp it down. After all, this isn’t the sort of place you just put your jacket down somewhere. Todd put his in the coat check but Dirk is absolutely not willing to take that risk.

Todd finishes his drink and grabs Dirk’s hand again, pulling them through the mass of bodies. Collective alcohol consumption has lowered people’s inhibitions and the crowd is hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, but, by weaving back and forth, Todd somehow manages to manoeuvre them almost to the front. There’s no breathing room and they’re being jostled from all angles but Todd is laughing, pulling Dirk close so they can lean into each other, anchoring together for stability. Coloured lights flash over Todd’s face from the cheap disco lights that someone has set up at the side of the stage in a fit of optimism and the effect is really quite entrancing. Almost enough that Dirk can forget the severe ache that has begun in his lower abdomen. Almost.

The second half of the band’s set seems to go on for hours but Dirk almost doesn’t mind. He could watch Todd being this happy all night. Or, at least, he could if there was an adequate bathroom nearby. As it is, he’s more than a bit relieved when they announce that this will be the last of their encores. They were due to stop playing about seven songs ago and only stop when management threatens them with a fire extinguisher.

The band leaves the stage, the house lights come up and the audience begins to filter out. Todd lets go of Dirk for the first time in over ninety minutes and Dirk is really quite disappointed about that but not too much because good _Lord_ he needs to be in their bathroom _right now_. He can’t stop fidgeting and now that the music has stopped it’s a lot harder to disguise pee-dancing as regular dancing.

Waiting to get Todd’s jacket back from the cloakroom is actual torture but not nearly as much as the temperature drop that hits them when they exit the bar. The weather has gone from “chilly” to “decidedly cold” and, after the heat of the dance floor, going outside feels like diving into an ice bath. It’s doing Dirk’s bladder absolutely no good at all. God, he can’t wait to get home.

‘Shit,’ Todd swears, bringing Dirk out of fantasies of their own bathroom and back to the here and now.

‘What?’

Todd is checking the time on his phone. ‘We missed the last bus.’

‘Oh.’ Dirk is too distracted by trying to stand still like a normal human being and _absolutely not_ like one who desperately needs the toilet to process that information straight away. It takes a few moments to filter through his brain until, with horror, ‘Wait – the _last_ one?’

‘Yeah, they stopped running ten minutes ago. I guess we’ll just walk.’

Dirk uses all his willpower to resist grabbing his crotch as his bladder does a little panic-twinge. ‘What? Can’t we just get a taxi?’

Todd smirks at him. ‘Yeah, in like an hour probably.’ He gestures at the pavements packed with the gig crowd, all apparently summoning Ubers. ‘We can walk in forty minutes. Come on.’

 _Forty minutes_ , Dirk thinks. There’s no way he can make it that long. It’s already taking everything he has not to grab himself and cross his legs. But Todd has linked his arm into Dirk’s and is steering him down the street and it looks like he has no choice.

Well: that’s not really entirely true; he admonishes himself, as Todd urges him to run across the pedestrian crossing before the lights turn green and every muscle in his abdomen screams at him. He could admit the situation he’s in to Todd. They could maybe find a grocery or liquor store that’s open late and throw themselves on the mercy of the owner. Or he could nip down an alleyway while Todd keeps lookout and shields him from view. 

But that’s _embarrassing._ Dirk wants tonight to be “The Night Todd And Dirk Had A Great Time At A Gig,” not “The Night Dirk Had A Wee In An Alley.” And he knows that’s not how Todd would remember it but it’s how _he_ would remember it. He's just not that person.

‘Jesus it’s cold,’ Todd mutters, snuggling into Dirk’s side with a goofy grin. He’s so _happy_. Dirk doesn’t want to ruin this memory. Instead he bravely wraps an arm around Todd’s shoulders, pulling him in to share body heat.

‘We’ll be home soon.’ It’s more for his benefit than Todd’s. He really, really needs to be home soon.

He makes it nearly three-quarters of the way before things get dire. He and Todd have been walking as close as two people can be without tripping over each other, and Todd has been babbling about the night and the band and The Mexican Funeral the whole way. Dirk has been “hmmm”-ing and “Ah, yes,”-ing in an attempt to keep Todd from noticing that 99% of Dirk’s attention is consumed with not wetting himself in the middle of the street.

They’re crossing the road – jaywalking, technically – when Dirk feels a drop leak out into his boxers. His instinct is _no no no STOP MOVING stand still CROSS EVERYTHING_ but that doesn’t quite work when you’re standing in the way of traffic. There are headlights glaring at him; he can’t even give himself a quick squeeze without someone seeing. He tightens every muscle and prays that it’s a one off; a fluke. He _definitely_ has more control left than that.

He doesn’t.

It comes in waves. For half a block he’s fine, then for the next he’s fighting his body with everything he has, feeling droplets leak out and make his trousers progressively damper and damper. He doesn’t dare look to see if there’s any visible evidence yet but the cold night air is making the wet spot chilly against his skin. It’s deliciously, painfully tantalising; making every one of his muscles scream even louder for release. 

The irony is that if he could hold himself; hunch over to take the pressure off; pause to gather himself as each fresh wave of desperation hits he could probably make it home without much further damage. But that would mean admitting to Todd that no, not only had he failed to take a bathroom break when it was appropriate, but he had also put off mentioning it for so long that he was at the point of wetting himself. No, _is actually_ wetting himself. It may only be slowly right now but the leaks are coming steadily enough that Dirk has no illusions about the realities of the situation. 

It would also mean letting Todd see. Letting him see how close Dirk is, how desperate. How he wants to grab his cock and squeeze every muscle tight and whine just for the sake of letting _something_ out of his system. And obviously that can’t happen so, instead, he tries to walk normally – if a little slower than usual – and not estimate how many minutes they are from home.

Todd is still practically pressed into his side, matching him step for step. Dirk wishes he would speed up a little so that Dirk could fall behind half a step, give himself a squeeze without Todd seeing, but he’s usually a habitually fast walker and Todd has become accustomed to following the speed he sets.

Todd has finished talking about the band and has moved onto a different topic. ‘Did you see that guy behind you?’ he’s asking. ‘Towards the end. Did you see how he kept looking at you? He definitely fancied you.’

In all honesty Dirk was too distracted by his bladder and by the way Todd had been pressed up against him all warm and sweaty to notice anyone else. ‘Didn’t see him,’ is just about all he can manage to reply.

‘Shame, really. He was pretty hot.’ 

Dirks ears prick up in spite of everything else that’s going on. He knows that Todd is bi but this is the first time Todd’s actually acknowledged that he thinks a guy is attractive in Dirk’s presence.

‘I suppose I _could_ have said something,’ Todd is continuing, ‘but I didn’t really want to share you.’ Unless Dirk’s mistaken there’s a slight blush to Todd’s cheeks and he’s looking at Dirk almost shyly out of the corner of his eye and… oh fuck, is Todd flirting with him?

Why is Todd flirting with him?

Is Todd drunk?

No, he can’t be drunk, American beer is weak as piss.

Christ Dirk _really is_ about to piss himself.

Todd is still looking at him and Dirk realises that a) he still hasn’t actually responded and b) he now has to try and flirt back – something that really doesn’t come naturally – at the same time as not wetting himself on a public street.

This really isn’t fair.

‘I don’t think I’d have been interested,’ he manages. He’s proud. It’s an actual sentence.

Todd raises an eyebrow. ‘How can you be so sure?’

 _Because you’re too pretty and anyway I really needed the toilet,_ is what he wants to say and doesn't.

‘Because… I was out with you,’ is what he actually says. And it might not be the whole embarrassing truth but it’s not a lie.

It seems to be enough for Todd. He smiles and looks away and takes Dirk’s hand.

At long last they round the last corner and their apartment building is in view. Dirk thought this would be better, knowing he was almost home and in his own bathroom, but somehow the proximity of potential relief makes his bladder go into overdrive. He’s going to burst. Very, very soon. He tries to focus on Todd’s hand, warm in his, on the way Todd’s icy breath billows out like smoke in the cold air, on the sound of their footsteps on the paving stones. Anything that stops him imagining how good it would feel to let go; how the pressure and the pain would dwindle and how the warmth would spread all over. 

By the time they reach the front door of the building he’s almost running, sacrificing security for speed. They live on the third floor and the stairs prove a challenge. It’s at least a little warmer inside the building – though not much; the communal spaces aren’t heated – but pulling himself up each stair one by one is almost more than he can take. Ever third or fourth step triggers another leak and he’s sure that, by now, if he was to put his hand between his legs he would find the fabric damp. 

It seems to take years but they finally reach the front door. He’s got his keys out in readiness already – anything to save a few precious seconds – but the lock is old and stiff and he fumbles them trying to get the right one in so they fall to the floor. He’s practically jogging on the spot and there’s absolutely no way that he can bend down to the floor without disaster.

‘Christ, Dirk, you’re even clumsier when you’re cold,’ Todd laughs and Dirk nods enthusiastically because yes, he’s _cold_ , that’s why he can’t stand still or make his fingers work properly. Just cold. That’s all.

Todd gets the door open and leads the way in. Dirk is just about to push past him and rush to the bathroom when Todd chooses the worst possible time to make his move.

All of Dirk’s attention is focussed on getting to the bathroom – he can _see the door_ \- but suddenly Todd is in front of him, and Todd’s hands are on him, and rather than moving towards sweet relief he’s being backed up until he hits the inside of the door. Todd’s wearing a look that’s a little bit fierce and a little bit scared and under any circumstances Dirk would really be extremely interested in that expression.

Todd’s hands fist in his jacket, holding him in place, and Todd’s face is inches from his own. ‘Can I?’ he whispers and God, his mouth looks so soft and pink in the hallway light and Dirk can’t help but nod yes because it’s true, Todd can do anything he wants.

_Just why now?_

And then Todd’s lips are on his and they’re even softer than they look, and sweet, and everything that Dirk has wanted for a long, long time. He feels the questioning tip of Todd’s tongue and opens his mouth to let Todd in, losing himself for just a second in the slide of saliva. Todd is a good kisser. No, Todd is an _amazing_ kisser and there are fireworks going off inside Dirk’s head. 

But then Todd presses closer, leaning his weight into Dirk’s torso, and it all comes crashing down.

Dirk could have maybe held on for another minute, ninety seconds tops, but the added pressure of Todd’s weight against his abdomen is all too much. A silent red alarm sounds in his brain.

‘Todd, I’m – I need –‘ he breaks the kiss to stutter against Todd’s lips, unable to form a real sentence but trying desperately to convey that Todd needs to get out of the way _right now._ But it’s too late. The dam bursts.

Dirk’s tired muscles give in and he stares wordlessly at Todd as urine floods his boxers and soaks down his legs. The relief is exquisite and he almost sobs as he pisses hard into his clothes, vaguely aware that a puddle is forming on the hallway floor. He wants to tell Todd to move back, to keep a safe distance, but he doesn’t have any words.

And it’s not like Todd hasn’t noticed what’s happening. His expression turns from shock to sympathy as he realises what’s going on and Dirk almost can’t bear the sight of it.

Once Dirk has started he can’t seem to stop and it takes at least two minutes for his stream to turn to a trickle and eventually stop. Todd doesn’t move away from him the whole time, staring at him with those huge, beautiful blue eyes. Dirk wishes he wouldn’t. He wants to hide. Maybe evaporate.

‘I’m sorry,’ is all he can choke out. It sounds more like a sob. He can’t help but notice how Todd’s jeans are stained with his piss. He’ll have to buy him new ones. If Todd will ever speak to him again. Fuck.

‘Hey.’ Todd finds one of his hands and squeezes it. He still isn’t moving. ‘Shh. It’s okay. _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t realise. I wasn’t paying attention.’

Todd never says _“You should have told me,”_ and Dirk appreciates that above anything else.

‘Sweetheart.’ Todd is stroking his hair and wiping tears from his cheeks – shit, he hadn’t even realised he was crying. He just keeps making this worse. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?’

Todd leads him towards the bathroom and gets the shower going. When it’s warm enough he helps Dirk, still immobile with mortification, to strip out of his wet clothes and gently herds him into the hot water. It feels good. He soaps and shampoos and rinses and when he’s clean and pink and ready to get out Todd is there ready with a towel. His clothes have vanished off the bathroom floor and Todd has changed into pyjama bottoms. He lets Todd help him dry off and put on his own pyjama bottoms and it’s only afterwards that he realises Todd has tucked him into Todd’s own bed. And maybe... maybe this isn't the worst, after all. Maybe this is actually quite nice.

He’s tired and not very aware of the world but he’s pretty sure he hears Todd get himself off before Todd comes to bed, snuggling into Dirk’s back warm and soft and like that’s where he’s meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was a student - a long time ago - there was a popular bar which was infamous for its toilets. It was the sort of place that, if you were going there, you wore shoes that you didn't mind throwing away and took a loo roll in your bag.
> 
> I avoided going there at all costs. But I figured Dirk wouldn't plan that well.


End file.
